


Untitled (A Mycroft/Molly drabble)

by thINKture



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Is this considered fluff?, Mollcroft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-11
Updated: 2015-01-11
Packaged: 2018-03-07 03:22:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3159356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thINKture/pseuds/thINKture
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was hard to tell who was more surprised - nay, shocked - at waking up to find someone else in the bed with them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Untitled (A Mycroft/Molly drabble)

**Author's Note:**

> I've long wanted to write fics again but something has always held me back (and I know what that something is). This little story came out of nowhere. And the latest in the long line of stories that I write but swear will never see the light of publication. It's untitled because I can't seem to think any appropriate title for it. Forgive me. 
> 
> This story has only been self-proofread for grammar issues. There isn't any plot and I'm not really sure if I should continue this. Any feedback is welcome.

 

It was hard to tell who was more surprised - nay, shocked - at waking up to find someone else in the bed with them.

Molly, tousled hair notwithstanding, had her mouth open but all that came out was a series of unintelligible syllables.

The object of her stare was a scant foot away from her, his face sporting an identical expression.

For once, Mycroft Holmes was rendered speechless, and indeed, his extreme intelligence failed him in immediately formulating an appropriate, diplomatic, and logical response.

"What the FUCK! Mycroft Holmes, what are you doing in my bed?!"

Molly's voice fortunately wasn't loud enough to wake the dead, despite the shock and fury of its tone.

Mycroft surreptitiously checked the hunter he had somehow placed on the nightstand. Half-past three. Dawn was a long way off.

"Miss Hooper, I assure you …" he began before a hand jabbed him rather viciously in the chest.

"Answer me, you cretin! What the holy fuck are you doing in my bed? How did you get in?!"

Molly suddenly seemed to have realized something.  She glanced down at her chest, and discovered that her pajama top's three buttons were open.

_Oh hell no …_

Scandalized at the thought that she and Sherlock's brother had … _No!_ She grabbed the duvet and hugged it protectively in front of her, while her other hand furtively checked if her pajama bottoms were still on her body.

"No, Miss Hooper, I assure you, nothing … untoward happened," Mycroft cursed himself inwardly while trying to keep his voice calm and even. "As you can see, I am still quite dressed," gesturing to his own shirt, only the top button left open, but without his tie, waistcoat and jacket. Molly could see his clothes draped on her armchair.

"Well, how would I know you're telling the truth? Have you got your trousers on?" she demanded.

For the third time, Mycroft was shocked into muteness.

"Of course I've still got my trousers on. I was not raised to assault unconscious, unwilling women," he replied evenly.

He tried again. "Please let me explain."

At his soft voice, she relented. There was a genuine look of fear in her eyes and her hands clenched around the duvet further.

He took a deep breath.

"I took you home. There was an attempt on your life, and the killer was already inside Bart's. We managed to get you out in time but you sustained a concussion. In the interest of your safety, I decided to simply take you back to your flat while my people took care of the necessary details behind this matter. It seemed expedient to stay here to ensure you were taken care of, plus my security detail is outside. You were given a sedative to help you sleep. The injury is minor but it is imperative that you rest."

He looked straight into her eyes the whole time, his hands open in front of him as a gesture of goodwill.

"You're safe, Molly."

After the merest hint of seconds, she crawled across the bed and into his arms, burrowing her head into his chest. Despite being taken by surprise, he instinctively wrapped his arms around her, and immediately felt the rapid beat of her heart slowly synching with his own.

"Hold me, Mycroft, please," she whispered.

He eased back into the pillows, as his hand gently rubbed her arms, trying to placate the small shivers of her body. There was a tightness in his chest that slowly uncoiled as his body and mind registered the proximity of her warmth, her scent, the sensation of her hair on his neck.

"Always, Molly. Always," he promised.

 

 


End file.
